Page 9 of Axes and Ohs

“Good.” He presses a swift kiss to my lips and then pulls back. “Sweet dreams, Erick.”

“Sweet dreams, Carlos,” I breathe.

I watch him walk back to the restaurant, and then I make my way back to my hotel room, my phone already in my hand.

I have a text message to write.

CHAPTER TWO

CARLOS - LATE JANUARY

Erick

[Photo of tiny hands and arms covered in paint, and a construction-paper picture of a green blob] Emergency finger painting incident at Little Raíces! Send help. Also, possibly a hazmat suit.

I’m supposed to be loading logs onto the truck, but instead, I find myself smiling at my phone like an idiot. Again.

Aw! Little dude painted a Brussel sprout!

Erick

Excuse you, that is a “dragón muy importante” according to Victor. He’s very excited for his mom to see it.

Better take lots of pictures then.

Erick

Already done! How’s your morning going? Sexy lumberjack activities, I presume? Axing things left and right?

I snort and nearly drop my phone when Beckett’s voice carries across the worksite.

“Carlos! You planning to stand there texting all day, or you gonna help us load this truck?”

“Sorry!” I call back, shoving my phone in my pocket.

Hussein and I finish loading up the truck for the drive over to the lumberyard—bigger logs on the bottom, smaller at the top, using the winch straps to tighten the wrappers around the logs. But even as I’m working, I’m wondering… what the hell am I doing?

Back in October, I kissed a guy for the first time. More than that, I unzipped his fly, cupped his ass, and came in his hand.

And I’ve spent the last three and a bit months texting and calling that guy nonstop, getting this little skip in my chest every time his name pops up on my screen.

I’m pretty sure my eyes are cartoon hearts over here.

So, like… I guess I’m bi now?

Which is fine. Honestly, totally fine. I mean, it’s not the Middle Ages, and I live in freaking Vermont. Half the crew I work with is queer, including my grumpy boss, who looks at his boyfriend like Griffin personally hung the moon.

I’m not gonna have a crisis about it…

If it’s true.

But I can’t help wondering, what if it’s just another impulse? What if I’m going down this path, getting invested in this thing, letting Erick get invested, all because I can’t tell the difference between genuine attraction and… what? Curiosity? A phase?

My phone buzzes again as soon as the wrappers are tight, and I dig it out instinctively, like I’m what’s-his-name’s dog, salivating at a bell.

“Jesus, man,” Hussein mutters. “You’ve been glued to that thing for months. What’s her name?”

I ignore him and check the message.